


Entre-nous, between us

by Oddree13



Series: NurseyDex Week 2017 [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, American Derek Nurse, Derek Plays Bass, Frottage, Irish William Poindexter, Jazz Age, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-04 05:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11548674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddree13/pseuds/Oddree13
Summary: Following the Great War, Derek realized returning to Louisiana wasn’t an option. With no proper family to speak of anymore, and a bit of inheritance in his pocket, Derek spent two years after his discharge wandering around Europe before deciding to settle in Paris. Soon Derek found himself immersed in the city of love, deep in the jazz age, playing bass in a band. Enter Liam, and IRA runaway, trying to find himself a place to call home.





	Entre-nous, between us

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @Beccabees for betaing once again!
> 
> Warnings for hints at period typical racism/homophobia

Following the Great War, Derek realized returning to Louisiana wasn’t an option. His mother had passed while he was away at war, and his bastard of a father had already remarried in order to get back into his family’s good graces by marrying a woman of proper lineage.

With no proper family to speak of anymore, and a bit of inheritance in his pocket, Derek spent two years after his discharge wandering around Europe before deciding to settle in Paris. Soon Derek found himself immersed in the city of love, deep in the jazz age, playing bass in a band.

He liked Paris - good food, pretty sights, and no one cared who you loved or slept with. He spent his days in cafes and wandering the streets, his nights in clubs, and his late nights in the beds of his lovers. Most excused themselves in the morning once they saw the state of his chest and back, scared by the chemical warfare of the front. Derek shrugged it off and pretended it didn't bother him. He shrugged it off and performed another gig, at his usual haunt, _Le Caveau de la Huchette_ , eager to see what the 1920s would bring him.

It started off like any other performance. Men and women pairing off to the music, switching between themselves to keep dancing. Most nights everyone who came to the club danced - why come if not for the music after all - so it was rare to see someone just watching from a table. Glancing every so often at the ginger who sat alone drinking, Derek wondered what had brought the stranger to his little slice of freedom. He tried not to dwell on it too long, except the ginger made that difficult due to his repeated glances up at him too.

It wasn’t that Derek wasn’t looked at often, his appearance usually only led to confusion because of the colonies, but it wasn’t as common from the men. But the look was unmistakable - the ginger was taking him in.

At the break, Derek walked off the stage and sent a drink over to the stranger’s table, before heading to the back to stretch and re-apply some ointment to his stiff muscles.

Coming back to the front, Derek was elated to see that the ginger was sipping on his fresh beer and giving Derek a pleased, but surprised look. Well, at least he had a shot then. Usually most men who weren’t into that kind of bedfellow downed the drink,, but wouldn’t look at him, or sent it back and left the club all together.

Leaning against the wall closest to the stage, Derek stared at the man a bit more, admiring the smattering of freckles that played over his skin. Pulling out a small notebook from his pants, he made a few notes about autumn before closing it, ready for the next set.

Derek became more of a showboat on stage, especially when the ginger kept eyeing him, but not taking any offers from the women to dance. Seeing a shot he made himself seem like the most charming man on stage, working up a sweat as he really got into the music and was lucky enough to lock eyes once more with the recipient of his drink. Looking across the room at his hazel eyes, Derek winked at him and licked his lips before focusing on the solo he was coming up to. He was pleased to see the man flush, and not look affronted by his advances.

Once the set ended, Derek went to the bar to get a drink of water before packing up, watching people file out. He was bent over his case when a shadow moved across the floor before him.

“ _Tu joues bien_ ,” Derek hears in a poor French accent and looks up to see the ginger.

“ _Merci, je suppose que vous ne parlez pas français?_ ” he asks slowly, and gets a nod from the ginger.

“ _Je suis Irlandais,_ ” the ginger attempts, shakily, and Derek smirks.

“Well lucky for you, I speak English,” he laughed, clicking his case closed, and standing up. “Do I get a name from you or do I keep calling you _Gingembre_?”Derek winked, continuing to pack up his instrument.

“Name’s William, but you can call me Will or Liam.” The newly named man said, fidgeting nervously. “I gather from the barman you’re Derek?”

“You’ve gathered right. Passing through town or are you settled here in our fair city?”

“A little bit of both. You say our fair city, but your accent sounds American?” he asked, uncertain.

“You’re right, I’m American, but the French decided to claim me for a bit so I can manage their tongue well enough.” Derek said, closing his case and leaning against the stage next to him. He looked up to better asses the Irishman in front of him, greatly enjoying what he was seeing.

“Interesting,” he hummed, standing a bit stiffly, unsure of what to say next.

“I guess it might be, Liam. But as much as I’d like to stand here all night chatting a fair sight like you, the barkeep it giving me a look at means I need to head home. If you have nothing to do, I have a few bottles of wine and a bed to enjoy,” he spelled out, being forward enough for the man before him to get the hint.

Derek could tell that even the direct approach took him a moment to process. After a pause a blush slowly began to spread over his cheeks, and down his neck.

“D-did I give you that i-impression sitting there?” he asked clearly confused by what signals he had been giving off that told Derek he was looking for company in bed too.

“Most men I send drinks to don’t stay and chat if they don’t want me looking their way,” Derek explained, grabbing his case in one hand and gesturing towards Liam with the other. He began walking towards the doors and out into the emptying streets of the city, guiding his companion along the way with a gentle hand. “I won’t take offense if you just wanted to tell me you liked my music and head home by the way.”

“People like you don't buy people like me drinks...” Will replied, but there was no venom in the statement and he continued to walk alongside the other man.

"What do you mean people like me? Ruffians? Vets? Negroes? Americans? Bass players? Men? You'll need to be a little more specific,” the musician chuckled, ambling down the road.

“All of the above I guess. But I was going to be saying fine, you know good looking people,” he murmured, keeping his hands in his pockets and his head down.

“Well first off, thank you. I’m not a lot of people’s types, but I seem to have gotten your eye,” Derek grinned, nudging the Irishman. “Second, this is Paris, it's not criminal to want who you want here. I go home with men, and women, and sometimes both. Depends on who I find attractive that night, and tonight my eyes landed on you," he grinned, pulling out a cigarette for the walk home. “It ain’t like England here. They don’t send guys like us to the labor camps for doing what we do. Sure some look at you funny, and if you get a policeman with a grudge he holds it against you, but overall, it’s _entre-nous_ , between us.”

“That’s certainly a change from back home,” he replied, shoulders relaxing and low whistle emanating from his teeth. “I could get used to that,” he added, looking up to smile at Derek.

“Good because you look good when someone flirts with you. Got this gorgeous flush,” Derek winked, brushing his finger against a pale cheek and causing said flush to reappear.

"I don't _flush_ ," Will grunted, cheeks tinting pink just as he said it.

“This is me,” Derek stopped walking and pointed to a set of stairs leading up to a second floor apartment. “You can come in for wine. Come in for wine and more. Or head out. I won’t say I wouldn’t be heartbroken if you walked away now, but if you do, I play at Le Caveau de la Huchette every other day.”

“Can I say just wine now, and maybe something more later?” Will asked, shyly.

“We certainly can,” he assured him and began the climb upstairs.

Once inside, Derek put down his case by the door and hung up his hat. The place was a modest studio, with a bed bigger than was typical and a small kitchen. He hadn’t wanted to waste all his money on living expenses if all he would be doing here was eating, sleeping, and occasionally entertaining. Pointing to the small set of table and chairs, Derek told Will to make himself comfortable as he looked at his wine selection, plucking two bottles along with some glasses down from the shelf.

“Had you ever heard jazz before tonight?” he asked curiously, pouring each of them a large glass of red.

“Only once on the radio. Different, but a lot of it looks like the music from back home. Communal in a way,” Will tried to explain, wringing his hands. Derek could tell he wasn’t used to talking so much.

“That it is. Takes at least a few people for a jazz band and what good is playing if you have no one to entertain?” Derek smiled, handing the other man a full glass. “I saw you didn’t dance with anyone, even when that lovely lady asked you.”

“I don’t do much dancing,” Will confessed, running a hand over the back of his neck. “And I’m don’t do much with women,” he added.

“Shame, I bet you’d make a fine dancer with some practice,” Derek grinned, and leaned over the table a bit. “So tell me how did you wind up here? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.

Over a few glasses of wine Derek found out the following - Liam got mixed up in some business with the Irish Republican Army and had to leave his country. He’s trying to find a place he can stay that he likes enough and lets him send money back home to his family. Derek in turn told him that he fought in the 93rd Infantry Division during the Great War, but instead of returning to the States when it was over, he had settled down in Paris.

“I learned the fiddle growing up and well it wasn’t too much of a leap to bass,” he wrapped up, feeling pleasantly buzzed.

“Me too. It wasn’t mine, but I learned. Never knew when a good party would get going and it wasn’t right for the same fellas to play all night you know?” he laughed, his cheeks ruddy from the wine.

“So you said you don’t do women? Never had a chance or never got the urge.”

“Never got the urge. Tried stealing a few kisses in my younger years, but never made my heart race like some other lads. When I got involved with the IRA I met a few forward thinking sorts and had a few tumbles with them, but nothing more,” he explained, swallowing down the rest of his wine.

“More of a Wilde man. No harm in that,” he winked, but the reference didn’t register with Will.

Draining the wine from his own glass, Derek collected the empty bottles and glasses to clean later. “So, Liam, did you want to stay for more or head on home?” he asked, leaning against his counter to look at the other man.

Standing, Will looked around the room, clearly trying to think, but Derek was pleased that the ginger’s eyes kept coming back to him. Seeing the thought process running through Will’s mind, Nursey stepped forward and placed a hand on his waist. “Stay,” he whispered, moving in closer to kiss his cheek. “I’d hate to let a handsome man like you walk out the door.”

The simple kiss seemed to make Will’s mind up for him and he moved his head to capture Derek’s lips. He’d done this much before, and even if it had been a long time, kissing still came naturally to him from what Derek could tell.

Letting his hand rest upon Will’s waist, Derek deepened the kiss, feeling the hard muscles beneath his fingers. Will was certainly a laboring man, and he wondered just how sculpted he was under his shirt and trousers.

It didn’t take long for Will to let go a bit, his hands roaming over Derek’s chest and back. Moving over a particularly sensitive spot, Derek laughed and pulled back and when he looked up he could see that William was smirking.

“You look good with a smile like that. That sultry act is good and all, but I like a man who has a good smile,” Will offered, and moved back to Derek, grabbing his hand and pulling him close.

“So the position of strong, silent type for the night gets taken by you?”

Will nodded and moved Derek to the bed in the corner of the room, kissing him as he moved. Settling down onto the edge, he pulled Derek down gently so he was straddling his lap, and moved a hand to unbutton his shirt, but Derek stopped him.

“You don’t want to do that. The war did a number on my body, but was nice enough to leave my face alone,” he explained, trying to not let show how affected he was. “I promise whatever we want to do I can do it without making you look at that. It isn’t pretty,” he mumbled. Derek tried to move back in for a kiss, but Will moved out of the way.

“I don’t know what kind of people you’ve been going to bed with, but your face isn't what caught my eye.” The ginger said, deadly serious. He pressed his hand firmly against his lover’s chest. “Your fingers played that instrument like you had a story and I wanted to know more. So while your face is right handsome, and your build is something to admire, I ain’t here just for that,” he promised, and moved against to unbutton his shirt. This time Derek let him.

As his shirt was peeled off, Derek didn’t look at the way Will reacted. He’d seen it before. People would think they could handle what they thought the scars would look like, but then his clothes would come off and they’d see the extent that the mustard gas had molted his skin. The gas mask he wore that day had saved his lungs and face, but did fuck all for the rest of him.

It took him a second to realize that the dulled pressure he felt on his torso were kisses that William was peppering over his skin, his arm resting around his waist as he did so. He was so stunned by the gesture that it took Will kissing his lips again to move, swallowing his feelings down with a shaky breath, and chasing after the red-head’s mouth.

“There you are,” he heard the ginger murmur. Derek grinned, pushing Will down to the bed, stripping away the other man's shirt. He was pleased that the freckles adorning Liam’s face were just as prevalent on his torso, and that a sturdy build was hiding underneath.

“I like how your freckles are everywhere, and I want to see how far down they go,” he hummed, as he kissed down his neck, his confidence bolstered a bit.

It didn’t take much longer for both men to be stripped down bare, laying side by side on the bed.

“We don’t have to do more than kiss if it’s too much for one night,” Derek offered, his eyes closed, focusing on the touch of Will’s fingers caressing his skin, the sensation ceasing every so often as it hit a patch of skin that was too damaged to feel.

“I’ve done more than kiss before, you aren’t the first naked man I’ve seen,” Will hummed, and moved to grip Derek’s shaft, stroking him slowly. The sensation caught Derek off guard who tucked his head into the crook of Will’s neck, gasping a bit at the stimulation.

Moving his hands up, Derek gripped Will’s shoulder with one while the other reached to grab his lover's prick, returning the pleasure.

It was Will’s turn to suck in a breath, not having expected Derek to return the favor. “Hope you didn’t think I would leave you wanting. If flirting makes you flush I want to see you after climax,” the American grunted, picking up the pace.

It didn’t take long for Derek to grip both of them in his hand, stroking them together, their combined friction and slick adding more to the pleasure of it all. Within no time, both men were spilling between each other, neither admitting that it had been a long time since they’d been with another person.

They came down, kissing each other, and touching whatever skin they could find, basking in the afterglow. Eventually Derek got up to get a towel, wiped them both down, and collapsed on the bed.

“If you stay until morning we can heat the water for a shower and fool around some more,” Derek whispered, placing another kiss on Liam’s lips, hoping the hot shower would incentivise the other man a bit more.

“How about I stay until morning, we shower, and we go get a croissant and walk around the city. That is if you don’t have to work,” he countered.

“I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you are wondering in this fic I've made Nursey from Louisiana. In Louisiana, there were not anti-miscegenation laws in place like in other parts of the United States. Therefore while it was rare, it wasn't unheard of, for mixed race marriages. Here Nursey's dad is white and he married Nursey's mom who was black French Creole. She wasn't a mistress. Nursey only calls his dad a bastard because of what he did after her death not before. 
> 
> Also people being confused by Nursey's looks is due to the fact that North Africa and France had a colonial relationship (to put it mildly) so people can't pin point easily where Nursey is from. 
> 
> If you have any other historical questions, drop them in the comments.


End file.
